The, uh, Hairless, uh, Cat.

Look, there are no two ways about it, this is one seriously strange looking cat. And the pussy on his lap has no hair. The previous comment would make more sense if you'd been at the bookstore last night to hear Gravity Goldberg's story.



When people drop out of TIAPOS there is nowhere to go but up. Mz. Sparkie is now masked and carries a flogger. Hey, it's a living.



OK, long-time Saint Plotnikians, yesterday The Great Plotnik was riding the plotkicycle on Van Ness Avenue, and at 24th St. he saw eight yellow dots painted on the road surface, two full circles, then two half circles, then two more full circles, then two more half circles.





So wassup with that? Does anybody know?

Incidentally, thanks to everyone who inquired on Plotnik's (mental) health after they realized he actually went to the doctor to see about a splinter in his foot. We all know Plot can, let's just say overreact somewhat when he is worrying about his Yearly Physical. This is all well documented. You'll be happy to hear he's still feeling fine, even after hearing an inane story read last night at the bookstore about a man who thought he had breast cancer.

No, The Great Plotnik is NOT adding this ailment to The Great Plotnik's Yearly Physical Big Six Worry List, sheesh, because the list is already full and to add 'breast cancer' he'd have to remove one of the other six diseases, like 'stroke' or 'brain tumor' or 'prostate cancer.'

Hey, that splinter COULD have been a tumor. It's possible. Let's just stop this conversation right here.